“Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. ” It was a long, meandering talk, stupid, shameful, and unavoidable. They clapped wildly afterward. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. "There's only one way out of the muddle, that I can see. Grudgingly he admired her. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off.
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